


kings and queens (they've all knocked on his door)

by blujamas



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Ficlet Collection, Gen, green boi gets visitors in prison
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:21:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29042289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blujamas/pseuds/blujamas
Summary: Conversations between a certain green entity in jail, and all the people he pulled into his web.-Ficlet collection, mostly focused on character study.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 66





	1. i. tommy

**Author's Note:**

> i'll be doing these little ficlets in between writing my longer fic, mostly to de-stress. you can request the characters you want me to write in for the next chapters! have fun <3

“You do understand,” Dream says, “that you’ll lose a brother, either way.”

Tommy pauses at the threshold, finding green eyes across a molten sea. He puffs out his chest and pretends to be braver than he feels. There are too many things separating them for Tommy to feel fear—lava, obsidian, netherite chains, time, effort, _so much goddamn effort_ —but it lingers, there in the space between his beating heart and his ribs, sitting in the hollow where courage used to be.

Tommy doesn’t allow his voice to waver; he has given too much away already. “What do you mean?”

Dream grins, as if they are speaking of fun things, kind things. As if they are friends, still. “Think about what you asked from me, Tommy. And think about what it will ask from _you_.”

“I want—” Tommy stills. That isn’t quite right. He doesn’t think he _wants_. He _needs_. There is a fire that has been raging inside his chest for so long, and there are fewer and fewer people who can put it out. He used to think it would be Dream, but it wasn’t. He has pinned his hopes on so many places—a father and an old ally, a nephew, a country old and new—and now all that is left is the scraps they tossed back in his face. It became clear to him that the only person who could truly understand, or the only person left to understand, was gone forever. Until Dream said otherwise. “If this is your idea of trying to psych me out, Dream, then you’re barking up the wrong tree. I’ve thought this through.”

“Oh, have you, now?” Mockery laces Dream’s words like sweet poison. “What was it Technoblade said? He believes in absolute reciprocity, doesn’t he?”

“What does Technoblade have to do with anything?” Tommy asks, when what he really wants to say is, _What does Technoblade have to do with_ me?

“I’m just saying he’s a firm believer of balance, and maybe you should learn a thing or two from him.”

But Tommy _has_ learned, a million times over.

“I don’t need this from you,” Tommy spits. He wants to turn and walk away, but finds his feet are rooted to the spot. Still an obedient little soldier, after all this time.

“Balance, Tommy,” Dream says slowly, like he is speaking to a child. “An eye for an eye. A life for a life. Ghostbur for Wilbur—or, Wilbur for Ghostbur, whatever you decide in the end.”

“You’re trying to get into my head again, and it’s not going to work,” Tommy says angrily. That was good. Anger was better than fear. “I want Wilbur back. End of story.”

“And Ghostbur?” Dream gets as close to Tommy as his chains will allow, as close to the lava’s edge as he dares. “What of him? You’d rather lose him than—”

“He isn’t my brother.”

The words settle between them like a dead weight.

“Wow, Tommy” Dream drawls, his grin widening. “I never knew you could be so cruel.”

But was it cruelty, or just the simple truth?

Ghostbur was kind, and warm, and gentle—all the things Wilbur forgot to be, in the end—but all he had were the good times, the good memories. But Tommy needs the Wilbur that fought with him, bled with him, struggled with him. He needs the Wilbur that remembers the pain with the joy, like Tommy does. The Wilbur who ruffled Tommy’s hair with blood still staining his hands. The Wilbur that played Tommy lullabies in the darkness of the Pogtopian underground. The Wilbur that would understand.

Ghostbur has his brother’s face, but not his brother’s heart, and that makes all the difference.

Tommy takes a breath, and then another. Recovery isn’t linear, he has learned, and sometimes all he can do is breathe, and that’s alright. And he would be, too, someday.

Preferably with his brother by his side again.

“Goodbye, Dream,” Tommy says, turning his back on him. “Bring my brother back for me and maybe I’ll ask Sam to get you a softer bed.”

“I don’t sleep, Tommy,” Dream calls out, but Tommy is already gone.


	2. ii. tubbo

“Would it help if I told you I was wrong?”

The obsidian platform beneath Tubbo is cold to the touch, but not as cold as the look on Dream’s face when he replies, “Haven’t you got more tricks up your sleeve than lying through your teeth? It’s getting pretty old.”

Dream sits across from him, on a platform of his own. It doesn’t escape Tubbo’s notice that they sit eerily alike: legs folded under them, back straight. He wonders if he’s reading far too much into it, and then quickly reminds himself of who he’s dealing with.

Dream cocks his head to the side, considering Tubbo at length. “I was wrong, Tubbo,” he says, his calm expression unchanging. “You’re not a pawn.”

“Dream—”

“You aren’t even on the board,” Dream continues. His words are measured and even, like brickwork done by an expert hand. His green eyes gleam in the flickering light. “Knight to F3.”

Tubbo looks down at the chess set in front of him, its checkered surface dotted with black and white pieces. On the floor beside it stands the vanquished, lined up in two neat rows—with Tubbo’s line pathetically longer.

He doesn’t even know why he came. He just found himself standing across from the imprisoned god, a chess set tucked under his arm, and a “Do you want to play?” tumbling from his lips. A force of habit, maybe, or a test. A test for _what_ , he doesn’t know, either.

It surprised him when Dream agreed. As Tubbo set up the pieces, he told him as much.

“It’s not like I have anything better to do,” Dream said, by way of explanation. He gestured to his relatively empty cell: a rickety desk straining under the weight of a stack of books and a solitary bed took up most of the space.

 _This is sad_ , Tubbo thought, and then kicked himself for being sorry, even for a second.

Now, staring down at the game that he was quite obviously losing, Tubbo wonders if Dream feels sorry for him, too. He moves the black knight to the square Dream indicated, then leans back to consider his options.

All that stands between his king and certain doom is the queen and a pair of stray pawns.

“You don’t see me as a threat,” Tubbo says softly.

“I don’t see you at all.” Dream shrugs, his netherite chains scraping loudly against the floor. “You were a means to get to Tommy, and now Tommy has outgrown you, so you’re back to being nothing.”

“Outgrown me?” A lump grows in Tubbo’s throat—an emotion too big to swallow. He knows Dream is lying, knows that Dream is baiting him, but the hook never left Tubbo’s side. He thinks, to the very end, he might follow wherever that line tugs him.

“He’s getting his brother back, isn’t he? His _real_ brother, I mean? So where does that leave you?”

“People can have two brothers,” Tubbo murmurs.

“Sure. Tell yourself that. But having Wilbur back means you’re not the only bullet against Tommy. So I can get rid of you, and still have enough ammunition for a killing shot.”

“You’re assuming you’ll ever get the chance to get near Tommy again,” Tubbo says. “But you’re never getting out of here.” He moves a piece across the board. “You’re done, Dream.”

Dream considers for a moment. “Bishop to B1.”

Tubbo makes the move. “That’s… okay.”

“Do you see it now?” Dream muses. “Four moves until checkmate.”

“No,” says Tubbo. “Three.”

Dream narrows his eyes at Tubbo, the green darkening. Wariness is not an emotion Tubbo would have associated with him, and Tubbo could not help but feel at least a little bit self-satisfied.

“You have to understand, Dream,” Tubbo begins, “that I’ve frankly gotten bored of doubting where I stand with Tommy. I actually have you to thank for that. You made Tommy choose, and he chose _me_. I’m his best friend, his brother. You will never make me think twice about that again.” He meets Dream’s gaze and doesn’t look away. “Your move.”

“I—” Dream pauses, takes in the board again. Tubbo knows him too well to expect him to react. Dream, after all, keeps his feelings close to his chest. Even at his lowest point, unarmed and surrounded, for once almost human, he’d decorated his grin with arrogance, laced his pleas of mercy with inevitability. When it became clear that none of them would move to help him, Tubbo had seen that façade fracture for the first time. And when Sapnap had stood between Dream and Tommy, Tubbo begun to understand that Dream’s weakness was keeping his friends close but his enemies closer, inevitably leaving his friends to the fray.

“Go on,” says Tubbo. “We both know how this ends.”

Dream makes his move. Tubbo’s pawn takes his queen.

Dream’s knight corners Tubbo’s king.

“Checkmate,” Dream says. "You lose."

Tubbo shrugs. “I told you it would only take three moves.”

“What’s your game here, Tubbo?” Dream asks suddenly. There is the slightest bit of tension in his voice. Tubbo revels in it.

“Well, chess,” Tubbo says calmly. He picks up Dream’s vanquished queen and turns it over his palm. In one smooth movement, he chucks it over the lava towards his opponent. It clatters dully against the obsidian floor and skids to a halt in front of Dream. “Do you know that Sapnap almost killed Technoblade, when you sacked L’manberg?”

Dream stares blankly at the piece lying discarded at his feet.

“I’d say he’s one of the strongest pieces on the board,” Tubbo says.

He stands and shakes the pins and needles from the leg he has been sitting on for the past hour. After a moment, his nerves begin to breathe again. He knows Dream isn’t watching. He knows Dream is still staring at that solitary piece. Tubbo smiles.

“Good game, Dream,” he says. “But I think that’s our last one for a while, yes?”

With a single sweep of his foot, Tubbo sends the chess board and all the other pieces clattering over the edge of the platform. The lava devours eagerly, and in the blink of an eye, there is nothing left on the surface of the red-and-gold river. Relief blooms in Tubbo’s chest at the sight; it is unfamiliar but welcome. He thinks he might enjoy this feeling for a bit.

He thinks he might take Tommy and the others on a game of a hide-and-seek. Or tag. Or anything else inconsequential.

He takes his leave of Dream, looking back only once to see that Dream has retreated to the corner of his obsidian cell. The queen piece is nowhere to be seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave requests for characters if you want :)) thanks for reading!


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